every day i fall for you a little more
by ten.years.only.with.you
Summary: one day you'll fall for a boy. a&a


I SHOULD BE GRADING PAPERS.

x

one day you'll meet a boy.

x

he's the kind of boy that conjures up images of rom-com movies. the kind of boy that smiles and it feels like the room suddenly gets brighter. the kind of boy that says sweet words and means them. the kind of boy that buys flowers for no reason.

he literally stomps and bangs his way into her life and she is so appalled by how rude he actually is and _so_ arrogant. she kinda falls for him right then and there.

(no, she falls for him the moment he grins under the store lights with his tousled mess of blonde hair and lanky limbs wrapped around her wrists as he begs her for a second chance.)

x

her heart has a mind of its own if that even possible. and her body betrays every other sense she wants to react or, you know, not react.

her stomach becomes a professional gymnastics Olympian. her heart becomes a baby hummingbird. her face feels like it's going to break like a crystal champagne flute.

so this is what this is like.

x

of course they argue. they are two opposite sides of a coin constantly fighting for the right to be on top.

he likes pancakes. she likes pickles. he loves being stage. she hates being on stage. he loves the beach and being outside. she loves the library. he's cool and collected. she's shy and awkward. he's a singer that loves to dance. she's a songwriter that hates the spotlight.

they're a _perfect_ match.

x

sitting next to him on the piano she can count the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose, how his eyelashes kisses his cheeks, how his dimples deepen when he smiles like a little boy.

she tells strangers about him as she rings them up at the register. it makes her blush fuchsia.

x

she feels tiny and petite standing next to him. he's all limbs and legs.

limbs that wrap around her torso, fingers dangling the skin of her shoulder, rushing over her pale collarbone. legs that get tangled in her feet, sidled up to her heels, warm thighs pressed against her bare ones, the slip of her dress riding higher, silk on jean.

x

Elliot buys her with charming half grins and nostalgia and hand woven baskets. he makes her remember being eleven and holding hands with a boy for the first time, that hard swoop in your stomach.

gavin placates her with lilies and violins and grand gestures. he makes her remember second chances and how another boy with dazzling eyes and a kind smile brings that slight lilt in your ribcage.

austin gives her pianos and daisies and Chinese soup dumplings. he makes her remember that sometimes her mouth and her lyrics can't translate the things her heart says.

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she will write so many songs and so many stories and none of them will explain why his laughter could move mountains.

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he tells her things under the lights of the practice room with his hands flying over the frets of a guitar, face down blonde locks falling just right into those brown eyes, loose chains of silver strangling his neck and his mouth working a mile a minute spelling her with sweet poetry.

he smiles at her when he catches her staring, his eyes moving over her face and body, gazing at her legs and the whip of her waist, finally settling on her blushing cheeks. it hurts when he looks at her and it hurts when he doesn't.

x

when he runs off with kira, when he runs off with piper, when he runs off with a nameless, faceless other girl that doesn't know that he sleeps with a stuffed animal or subconsciously gives her all the red peppers in his salads or writes in cursive or has an herb garden that only he and dez think they know about or a million other things—

all she can hear is his voice in her ear, tantalizing and laughing as he sings that _hey I will always stay by your side forever cause we're better together, hey there's no other way we'll make it through whatever cause we're better together_

(like clockwork he shows up throwing stones at her window after each date, modern day romeo calling for Juliet, stumbling up the oak tree, and crashing through the screen every time.)

x

they do so many things without thinking that she doesn't even realize until trish points it out on an October afternoon after a VCL performance: the staring, the touching, the smiling, the lack of personal space, the sharing of food or drink, the sharing of everything really.

austin confirms it ten seconds later as he enters the store, hops on the counter and begins absentmindedly twirling one of her curls.

x

she tries to kiss strangers and pretend it's him.

it works until she opens her eyes and realizes that her hand isn't tangled in blonde and ringed fingers aren't in her whorls, he doesn't smell like salt and boy, and there is no one smiling into her mouth. there's kissing and then there's kissing austin moon.

x

prom is perfect by every stretch of her imagination with the beautiful dress and the moonlit swim in the Miami bay with her dress pulled up around her waist and the cuffs of his pants rolled up as they splash and screech and the stars above them think what a cliché but she doesn't really care.

x

he's always been the heart and she's always been the head. he's the spontaneous and she's the planner so when he pulls out college brochures and starts talking grades and _how many washingtons there are but there's only one LA_ with a confident grin that falters the moment he sees her not returning it, she leaps on him and they spend the entire afternoon on the practice room couch kissing and practicing for the SAT.

dez and trish stop by with pizza and basketballs and new song sheets and they play until dad comes by and shouts at them, austin's trying not to giggle and dez is outright smiling and trish is staring at the ceiling while she covers their stories without a trace of irony. his hand is warm in hers.

x

he's the boy she will always be some kind of in love with. the kind of boy that uses bad grammar and eats too many pancakes. the kind of boy that has wacky friends and too blonde moments. the kind of boy that makes her laugh when she doesn't want to and cry when she is supposed to. the kind of boy that knows how she takes her coffee, how she takes her tea, how she takes on the world. the kind of boy that looks at her and says things like

_there's no way I could make it without you._

he's the boy that means it.

he's the boy.


End file.
